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Rodney had always wanted to have a threesome.
Ever since he had discovered the joys of masturbation and his father’s old Penthouse magazines, a threesome had easily topped the list of his sexual fantasies - right up there with dominatrix sex-bots and actually having sex with a real woman.
He’d imagined all sorts of scenarios - identical twins he’d picked up at a college party, nuns, tired of the convent and looking for a man to show them the ways of the world, Sam Carter and her buxom clone.
(Weirder things have happened, he tells himself).
But for all the times Rodney had imagined having a threesome, he’d never imagined this.
The farmer is on her back, legs wrapped tight around his waist, hips bucking up and grinding, pussy wet and tight around his cock. It’s good, nearly too good, but he’s had four mugs of the local mead already and that must help, because he doesn’t shoot his load just yet.
Rodney tries to focus on the farmer (Melin, he reminds himself) - the way her tits bounce every time he fucks into her, the way she keens when he rubs against her clit with his thumb in slow, sloppy circles. He tries to focus on Melin, because if he doesn’t, then he’ll focus on Colonel Sheppard, who’s barely a foot away from him, hand propped against the wall, hunched over as Melin gives him an awkward handjob and tries to suck his cock.
He still doesn’t understand how they got here - one minute, Melin was showing them the stables, and the next she was kissing him, even as her hand reached inside of Sheppard’s pants, ignoring the small sound of protest he made, as he tried to back away.
Sheppard could have left, for all Rodney cared; let him have the off-world hookup for once. Only then Melin was pleading with him to stay, pleading with Rodney to convince him. In the low light of the stable, shirt untied and hanging loose from a rounded shoulder, Melin had looked wanton and welcoming, and Rodney had spoken before he could even think.
“Come on, Sheppard. What’s the harm?”
It worked. It had had no right to work, but it did, and then Rodney was unlacing Melin’s riding trousers, working his fingers into her soft, slick cunt, kissing along her strong, muscled thighs, and trying not to focus on the way she touched Sheppard, or whether he still looked about a second away from bolting.
Melin’s beginning to tremble, her legs gripping tighter, and Rodney fucks her harder, rubs her clit faster, tries his best to get her to come before he does. It would be nice if Sheppard helped out a bit, maybe played with her nipples, or reached down to give him a hand with her clit, but he’s still leaning against the wall, eyes squeezed shut, bottom lip stuck between his teeth, breathing harshly.
He’s quiet, and Rodney tries to be too, even as he’s coming, muscles tensing and releasing, slamming into Melin a few more times as he shudders and grunts in pleasure. He pinches the bottom of the condom and pulls out carefully, as Melin moans in disappointment. She hasn’t come yet, he thinks, but then she’s leaning up to blow John properly, fingering herself roughly, quickly.
Rodney doesn’t mean to watch, but he’s not quite in control of his body anymore - he feels detached and disconnected, endorphins and alcohol leaving him shaky. Just as he’s wondering if he should get back in there - if it’s rude to bow out now that he’s come, they both finish, Melin letting out a muffled moan, as John grunts quietly, so softly that Rodney nearly misses it.
Melin doesn’t try to kiss him, and Rodney is grateful. She slaps his thigh in some sort of gesture that Rodney interprets as good effort, and lays back on the straw covered blanket.
His first threesome. It isn’t what he had imagined, but these days he’ll take what he can get.
It’s probably the kind of thing guys like John did all the time in college. Shared a girl with a frat brother or two, just for the stories. Rodney falls back onto the straw, thinks vaguely of the rash he’ll have the next day, and mentally congratulates himself for being so cool about the whole thing, so casual.
—
Mostly, Rodney doesn’t think about it for the next few months. He does his research, they go on missions, he strikes out with the women of Atlantis, he hangs out with the team. Only every so often, he’ll be eating lunch or playing a video game, and he’ll look up at Sheppard and think I had a threesome. I saw Sheppard’s dick. I know how he sounds when he comes.
And then Sheppard will ask some inane question, or steal one of Rodney’s chips, or laugh that stupid braying laugh of his, and he moves on.
—
They visit the Taranians in their new settlement, follow Norina on a tour of the makeshift labs that they’ve built, well-supplied with materials from Atlantis. It’s his second chance, and Rodney’s not about to blow it, not even with Sheppard third-wheeling the entire time.
He finally manages to shake him that evening, during the welcome reception. Sheppard’s been cornered by the Chancellor and one of the military officers, and Rodney seizes his opportunity, joining Norina by the wall, drink in his hand.
“You’ve- uh- made excellent progress so far. All things considered,” Rodney says. It sounds patronizing, even to his ears, but Norina doesn’t seem to mind.
“Thank you, Dr. McKay. We could not have done it without your kind contributions.”
They discuss their new solar power program, and Rodney’s careful to compliment Norina’s work, even if it’s barely above the level of an average undergrad back home. It’s working too, because Norina places a hand on his arm and invites him to her room, just as Sheppard finally saunters up to them.
“Colonel Sheppard,” Norina smiles.
“Sheppard. We were just leaving,” Rodney says meaningfully.
Sheppard narrows his eyes, and is about to protest, when Norina interrupts.
“Perhaps you’d care to join us.”
Rodney freezes and John’s eyes widen. Rodney wonders if they give off some sort of aura, or pheromone: these guys have had a threesome.
“I’m not sure that’s the best idea,” John says and Rodney nods along fervently.
“Yes, yes, I think the Colonel should stay here. And, uh, mingle some more.”
Norina pulls away and regards them both coolly.
“Miss Emmagen did warn me that your people are perhaps more… conservative… than other cultures in Pegasus. But I did not believe you both to be so… conventional,” she says, managing to sound both disappointed and pitying.
“Well, that’s Sheppard for you,” Rodney says desperately. “Very traditional. Raised Catholic, you know.”
“Oh, suddenly you’re so open-minded, then, McKay?” Sheppard bites back.
Between them, Norina smiles in delight, a dare. She’s beautiful and blonde and her tight lilac dress scoops low, showing a tantalizing glimpse of cleavage.
And that’s how Rodney finds himself laid back on Norina’s bed, kissing her desperately as she makes these sexy little mewling noises. He’s got one hand on her breast, enjoying the soft weight, the way her nipple pebbles as he worries it. Behind her, Sheppard is eating her out, and doing a halfway decent job too, if the way she shivers is any indication.
Norina’s the one calling the shots here, docile, patient Norina, but as long as she keeps her hand on his cock, she can do whatever she wants. She draws Rodney up to his knees, mouths at his balls, before arching her back and looking behind.
“Fuck me, Colonel,” she demands. John pulls back, a glazed look in his eyes, full lips wet and glistening with her juices.
“Sorry?” he says, licking his lips unconsciously, and Rodney’s gratified to see that even John Sheppard gets a bit dopey during sex.
“Fuck me. While I suck him,” Norina directs, before lowering and taking Rodney’s cock deep. He bites back a groan.
There’s a moment of hesitation, and then John is fucking Norina from behind, eyes squeezed shut, hands clenching in her hips, each thrust bumping Norina’s forehead against his gut. He sucks his belly in.
Rodney’s got a perfect view, and he tries to look down, tries to concentrate on the image of Norina’s lips wrapped tight around his cock, but he keeps getting distracted by the movement in his peripheral vision.
John’s thrusting in, smooth and lazy, restrained and almost unbothered, as if he does this all the time. He probably does, Rodney decides bitterly. He looks way too cool for someone currently balls deep in a woman as hot as Norina. Rodney’s never seen himself fuck, never recorded a home movie or looked in a mirror, but he’s certain he’s never looked like that. No, Rodney’s sure he must look flustered - too keen, too desperate for it. He doesn’t get laid nearly enough to treat it with the same equanimity that Sheppard does.
But still, it’s not so bad watching them, Rodney decides, Sheppard’s annoying nonchalance aside. Kind of like porn, just live. Decent porn, too.
It doesn’t matter how hot the woman is, half the time porn gets ruined by the guy. He’s too hairy or too waxed, too muscled, too sweaty, too loud. He hates the way guys grunt in porn, the way they shout, the overly macho dialogue. It’s why Rodney prefers the girl on girl stuff.
But John’s not too bad. He’s hairy, sure, but not overly so, and the dark curls on his chest suit him. He’s in good shape, not so muscle bound that he’s intimidating. He looks strong, like he runs or swims (Rodney knows for a fact he does both). And mostly, he’s still quiet, just making these soft, breathy grunting noises, which Rodney finds he doesn’t really mind.
He realizes he’s staring again, and draws his gaze away, focusing instead on the soft brush of Norina’s lips against his cock, the way his nerves light up as she tongues the underside of his head, the way she moans as she sucks him down.
—
In the next year, Rodney gets laid more regularly than he ever has in his life.
(Which isn’t saying much, but he’ll take it).
Once he and Sheppard become a package deal, there seems to be some scientist, some diplomat, some mayor’s daughter throwing herself at them at least every few missions. Rodney’s not sure if he’s just gotten better at picking up the signals, or if threesomes really are that much more desirable here in Pegasus. He knows that they’re less taboo, considered less kinky, even if Teyla does throw them a sour, disapproving look every time they emerge together, with a rumpled, smiling woman trailing behind them.
And it turns out Sheppard is the perfect wingman, at least, ignoring the whole sharing the woman deal.
He’s always a gentleman about it, more often than not dealing with the boring, or difficult parts of foreplay, leaving Rodney the objectively better bits - kissing, playing with their tits, getting his own dick fondled or sucked.
When Florence, the gorgeous Artraian archivist lays back and spreads her legs, Sheppard doesn’t even try to kiss her, just kneels between her knees and eats her out, eyes drifting shut and mouth moving with efficient, methodical focus. In fact, the Colonel always seems to offer to go down on women, which is great, because the women love it, and as much as Rodney enjoys a bit of cunnilingus from time to time, it’s not long before his neck aches and his tongue gets sore.
Sheppard must have a real thing for oral, Rodney decides sometime later, just as Daya, a Belkan trader tries to push the Colonel down and straddle his cock. Gracefully, Sheppard maneuvers her off and onto Rodney, and she sinks down on him, all powerful muscles and slick, wet, heat. Instead, Sheppard has Daya blow him, kneeling carefully on the bed beside Rodney’s feet.
John’s always getting the women to blow him, Rodney thinks hazily, hips pistoning up in Daya’s cunt, hand grasping her thick, muscled ass. Rodney tries not to stare at the look of pinched concentration on John’s face, the way his eyes squeeze shut and his hands grip the headboard.
—
There’s some unwritten rules to this whole thing, Rodney eventually realizes. Rules that guys like John seem to innately understand, rules that Rodney scrambles to pick up.
The first is that they don’t talk about it.
That one’s easy enough. After that first time with Melin, he doesn’t try to debrief or go through a whole play-by-play or anything, just share a little conspiratorial nod and wink. They’re heading back to the gate, Ronon and Teyla a few meters behind them.
“So, last night was pretty… wild,” Rodney says grinning, feeling like he’s part of some inside joke or secret for once. Sheppard trips over nothing and catches himself, shooting Rodney a glare over his aviators.
“Shut it, McKay,” Sheppard hisses. It’s probably the hangover talking, but Rodney gets the message anyways.
No talking about it.
The second rule is to never look at the other guy during sex, at least if you can avoid it.
This one is harder for Rodney. He’s a scientist, he’s curious by nature, spends his days observing and documenting otherwise unknown phenomena. And having sex with another guy in the room, definitely counts as an otherwise unknown phenomena, at least in his book.
Those first few times, Rodney finds his eyes keep wandering back to John, cataloguing the way he fucks into Norina, hips flexing, stomach annoyingly flat, the way he moans lightly when Melins jerks him off, quiet and nothing like Rodney’s too loud grunts.
He almost feels like he should be taking notes - John Sheppard is a masterclass in fucking, and no one should look that graceful, ass arched in the air, eating Florence out while she sucks Rodney off.
He’s lucky though - Sheppard never catches him looking. He mostly keeps his eyes shut during sex (maybe that’s how he’s so graceful, mind over matter or some bullshit like that). Rodney figures he should too, but then he sees Florence’s perfect breasts bouncing as she grinds back onto Sheppard’s tongue, and figures it’s ok if he keeps his open. Just as long as they stay away from John.
The third rule is that they never touch each other, just the woman. He figures this out pretty quickly with Norina, when he reaches to pull her closer, just as Sheppard thrusts into her. It’s not like he gropes the Colonel’s dick or balls or anything, just barely brushes over his hip - it’s practically platonic, especially given that they’re both fucking the same woman, at the same time.
Still, Sheppard jerks like he’s been electrocuted, and pulls out of Norina, who moans in disappointment. Sheppard’s eyes blink open wide, just for a moment, finding Rodney’s, before skittering away.
“Sorry, sorry,” Rodney says, and then Norina is pulling him back towards her, shuffling back to impale herself on Sheppard’s cock, and Sheppard lets his eyes drift shut, the moment lost.
It’s the third rule that he breaks on PX-815.
—
Rodney’s surprised it hasn’t happened before. One moment he’s kissing Clorian, hands winding through her silky, red hair, teeth nibbling her bottom lip, and then the next she’s pulling away and taking a step back.
“And now each other,” she commands, Queen Regent, even here in the bedroom.
“What?” Rodney splutters. Sheppard looks up from the bed, where he’d been busy untying his shoes, undressing almost as if it’s a matter of routine.
“Kiss each other,” Clorian directs. “Surely the aim of laying with two, instead of one, is that the pleasure is shared round.”
John looks like a deer in headlights, and Rodney spares a thought for his fragile masculinity, so wedded to his own heterosexuality that he can’t even bring himself to touch another man, let alone go through a bit of fake kissing to get Clorian in the mood.
“We, uh, don’t really do that,” Rodney tries, and Clorian frowns.
“You do not kiss on your home world?”
“No, no, we kiss,” Rodney explains. “We definitely kiss. All about the kissing. But Colonel Sheppard and I don’t kiss each other.”
“Why not?” Clorian asks, face furrowing.
Rodney shoots a look back at Sheppard, but he’s staring intently at his knees, stubbornly refusing to engage. Guess this is payback for all that foreplay, Rodney thinks.
“We’re not attracted to each other. We’re not attracted to men, at all.” Clorian’s frown deepens. “We’re attracted to women - we’re attracted to you! Very, very attracted! We, uh, both want to be with you. But not each other.”
Sheppard grimaces and yeah, it wasn’t his most elegant explanation, but Rodney would like to see John do any better.
“So you wish to lay with me together, but apart?” Clorian clarifies and Rodney nods. “This is not how such a union would usually pass. I wish for my partners to desire each other as they desire me. It is most fulfilling.”
Rodney can see Clorian changing her mind, and most of the blood is already in his dick, which is why he blurts out, “We can try!”
“What?” Sheppard finally speaks, eyes wide.
He freezes as Rodney approaches him, and cups his cheek.
“Lie back and think of Atlantis,” Rodney jokes, and then he leans in to kiss him.
It’s like kissing a statue, or one of those sex dolls that they used to hide around the lab back in grad school. Sheppard is frozen, lips soft, but unyielding beneath his, hands clenched tight at his sides. Rodney tries to deepen the kiss, tries moving around, but Sheppard remains stubbornly immobile.
Insulted, he finally turns away.
“You truly do not desire each other,” Clorian giggles, apparently surprised. Rodney’s glad someone finds the humor in the situation, because Sheppard is shooting him a death glare over her shoulder.
“Oh well,” she says, and drops her robe. “I still wish to feel you inside of me. Doctor?” Clorian moves towards him, her body warm and kinetic, and Rodney tries his best to forget the feeling of soft, dry lips, against his own.
—
John’s weird after PX-815, weirder than usual. Rodney broke rule three, sure, but it was just a kiss, hardly more than the kind of chaste, experimental kisses he’d swapped with friends as a kid.
When the innkeeper propositions them on PX-173, Rodney almost thinks John’s going to say no. But he must see something in Rodney’s eyes - desperation, or an apology, because he nods stiffly, trails them into the bedroom.
John’s always cool, always the guy, even during sex, but he’s even more quiet and restrained this time around. He cultivates such an air of disinterest, seems so laid back, that it almost looks like he’s not even into it.
Rodney’s never really cared before, but he thinks back to Clorian. It’s just not as fun, if everyone isn’t into it. Sometimes, he wishes Sheppard were a little less cool.
—
They follow Ysra into the temple gardens. The night is warm, the air heavy and humid. Ysra stops to show Sheppard some flowering vine, discussing its various medicinal properties.
“Some even say it acts as an aphrodisiac,” she purrs, hand brushing softly against Sheppard’s cheek. Sheppard smiles, although it looks closer to a grimace and Rodney tries his best not to roll his eyes, annoyance bubbling up to the surface.
Ysra’s been flirting with them all day, adopting a particularly cloying, coy sweetness when she speaks to Sheppard. It’s clear that it isn’t really working for Sheppard, and to be honest, it isn’t working for Rodney either, but it’s been a while since PX-173, and Ysra looks strong and flexible.
“Why don’t we head back to your quarters and test that hypothesis,” Rodney says, when it becomes clear that Sheppard isn’t going to respond. He places a hand on the small of Ysra’s back; she immediately pulls away.
“Apologies, Dr. McKay, if I have misled you in any way. But my interest is in Colonel Sheppard.” Ysra takes a step closer to John, who stiffens minutely.
“What? But back at the market- you hand fed me those berries!” Rodney accuses.
Ysra looks confused, and his stomach drops. “That is our way, Dr. McKay. It is considered good hospitality to feed your guests. I apologize again, if that has confused you. Colonel?”
She turns to Sheppard and tilts her head back towards the temple, where the priestesses have their rooms. Sheppard grimaces. He looks a bit ill - Rodney knew he shouldn’t have tried that stew in the market.
“I’m flattered, but I’ll take a pass. Thanks for the tour, though.”
“Oh for god’s sake, Sheppard. Just go with her. I’ll survive a night on my own,” Rodney says begrudgingly.
It was bound to happen at some point, Rodney figures. The last thing he needs is Sheppard’s pity abstinence. One of them might as well get some action from a hand that isn’t their own.
“No, really. It’s fine. I don’t want to,” Sheppard hisses. Ysra looks more confused than insulted.
“Are you crazy? There’s a beautiful priestess practically throwing herself at you, and you’re saying no? Out of what? Some warped sense of loyalty? Because trust me, I’ve never put much stock in the bros before hoes deal.”
“She’s right here, Rodney,” John grinds out.
Only Ysra is already retreating to the temple.
“I must tend to the fires,” she calls, her robes sweeping quietly behind her. “Do not call on me later.”
They both stare after her for a long moment, before Rodney turns back to Sheppard.
“Seriously?” he asks. “You’re turning her down? I’d kill for her undivided attention.”
“I’m sure you would, McKay,” Sheppard grumbles. “But I’m fine without it.”
“But why?” Rodney asks. “Was it the stew?”
“The stew? What? No. I don’t want to talk about it,” Sheppard says, and he begins stalking back to the temple, boots crunching in the gravel, his shoulder brushing roughly through the flowering vines.
“Of course you don’t,” Rodney says, following close on his heels. He’s angry now - angry that he’s been sharing women and sharing beds with Sheppard for nearly a year now, and that they still can’t even acknowledge it. “Why won’t you even talk about this?”
Rodney grabs at Sheppard’s sleeve, and the Colonel stops, yanking the fabric from his grasp.
“You really want to talk about this Rodney? How do you still not get it? After all this time?” Sheppard is laughing now, a resigned, unhinged laugh and suddenly Rodney feels like he’s been missing the joke this whole time.
“I’m not attracted to women. I don’t want to sleep with them. There, I said it. Are you happy now?” Sheppard continues. He’s moved closer to Rodney, his face just a few inches away. It’s closer than they’ve ever been during any of their encounters.
It’s the last thing Rodney expects to hear. Sheppard’s an intergalactic ladies’ man, he’s Kirk, he’s eaten more pussy in the last year than Rodney has in his whole life.
“Don’t be stupid,” Rodney snaps. “I’ve seen you have sex with women. I’ve seen you come.” John flinches. “Oh, what am I supposed to go back to pretending I wasn’t there for all those three-ways?”
John sighs in resignation, scrubs a hand over his eyes. “I was married once, you know. To a woman,” he clarifies, at Rodney’s dumbfounded look. “I’ve dated women most of my life. Back home, in the air force, there was no other option. So I learned how to just deal. Get through it.”
“But you went down on so many of them! You loved going down on them!” Rodney protests, as if the oral sex were the real issue. Because none of this makes sense. Why would John force himself to go through the motions, if he didn’t want it. Could a guy really will himself to stay hard, if he wasn’t attracted to his partner at all? He thinks back to some of his lower moments in grad school, and decides yes, he probably could.
“What was it you said, lie back and think of Atlantis?” John says bitterly.
“But why?” Rodney asks. “If you weren’t into it, why even bother?”
John laughs again, and it’s a broken, cruel thing.
“Because I’m fucked in the head. Because I can’t have what I want, but I can torture myself for wanting it. Because I can’t seem to shake this stupid thing I have for you.”
He stalks off to the temple and Rodney is left alone in the garden, the smell of the flowers sweet and suffocating in the air.
—
Things are inevitably weird after that. Sheppard avoids him, or maybe he’s the one avoiding Sheppard.
They stop hanging out, stop having meals without Teyla or Ronon present, stop sending each other stupid emails, stop nearly everything that makes them them. Rodney starts sharing a room with Ronon off-world - the man snores like a log sometimes, and he misses Sheppard’s quiet little sniffling breaths.
Things carry on until he thinks they’ll break, and carry on some more after that.
And then Rodney’s in a jumper at the bottom of the ocean and Sam Carter is right there with him and impossibly, John is calling to him from the outside, and suddenly, none of this really matters anymore.
—
Sheppard moves on and so does he, mostly. He doesn’t dwell on it, except that every so often he’ll look up over his monitor or over to the pilot’s seat and think I had a threesome. I saw Sheppard’s dick. Sheppard fucked women for me.
And then there’s the moments, late at night, when he’s bored of all the porn on the servers and too tired to imagine anything else. When he closes his eyes, snakes a hand into his boxers, and thinks of Clorian’s fire-red hair, Daya’s gorgeous ass, the noises that Norina made.
And sometimes, his mind wanders further. Sheppard’s wet, glistening lips, their disappointing kiss, the way he moaned, softly and unsure. The flex of his thighs in the candlelight, the dark hair covering his arms, his chest, his balls. The way he ate pussy like it was his mission, the gasping pleasure as Florence writhed on his tongue.
Rodney grunts, muscles clenching, hand squeezing his dick, riding the waves of his orgasm, hands sticky with come. He feels sick after, his stomach full of lead, or too much stew. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s just jerked off to his very male, best friend. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s just jerked off to Sheppard having sex he didn’t really want.
He wipes his hands on a tissue, tucks his cock back into his boxers, and goes back to not thinking about it.
—
“What are you looking at, McKay?” Sheppard snaps. He puts his mug of ale down and leans in close. “You’ve been looking at me all night, it’s driving me nuts.”
“What, no I haven’t,” Rodney protests, turning his attention back to the meat dish in front of him.
He has been staring, actually. They’re back on Belkan, and all day, Rodney’s been plagued with flashes of John at his feet, the way he looked when Daya took him in his mouth, all that restrained power, denied pleasure.
“You have,” Ronon says, ripping off a chunk of bread and dipping it into some sort of yogurt sauce. “You’re being weird.”
“Oh because, you’re suddenly the arbiter of all things normal,” Rodney snaps.
They stay at the same inn as last time, but manage to avoid Daya; rumor has it that she’s taken a new lover on Driff and is off visiting her. At least there’s that - Rodney doesn’t know what he’d do if she propositioned them again.
He’s back to sharing a room with the Colonel, and that night he undresses quickly, keeps his eyes to himself. He’s a bit hasty stepping out his pants; he curses when he stumbles and stubs his toe.
“You sure you’re alright, McKay?” Sheppard asks, eyeing him suspiciously. Rodney braces himself on the bed and rubs his toe.
“Yes, just peachy. Now would you please stop with the questions?”
Sheppard just hums, and crosses the room. He looks at Rodney carefully, guarded and so hungry that Rodney wonders how he could have ever misunderstood him.
“You’re being weird,” Sheppard says, close enough that Rodney can smell the beer on his breath. Sheppard’s tongue darts out, a nervous habit, one Rodney’s seen before, only now he can’t help tracking the movement of pink skin, that little glisten of moisture left behind in its wake.
When he finally pulls his eyes away, Sheppard’s staring at him, hand half reaching out.
“Rodney?” he says, the question dying on his lips as Rodney moves forward in a tumble of nerves and energy, and kisses him.
For one brief, horrible moment, it’s like PX-815 all over again. Sheppard’s warm and alive and not moving .
“Sheppard,” Rodney groans, pulling away, and it’s like a spell has been lifted. Sheppard surges forward and kisses him back, teeth clacking and lips mashing painfully.
It’s a version of Sheppard he’s never seen before; it’s the version of Sheppard he wants to keep. He’s sloppy and hasty, biting Rodney’s lip, licking at his tongue, his gums, his teeth. Rodney pulls him closer, licks right back, feels the wet drag of spit-slicked stubble against his chin.
It’s dizzying. Sheppard’s hands are everywhere at once, stroking along his back, tracing the line of his waistband, pressing up his sides, tugging at the hair on his chest. His movements are frenzied, as if he can’t decide what to do first; he kisses Rodney’s neck, bites his ear, sucks the inside of his elbow.
They tumble back into bed, and Rodney’s legs fall open, welcoming Sheppard into the cradle of his thighs. Sheppard grips his hair, tugs so hard that pain sparks into pleasure, and kisses him deeply, even as he begins to rock against Rodney’s cock, rutting desperately, searching for some sort of friction through the layers of clothing. He pulls back every so often, presses soft kisses onto Rodney’s jaw, his eyebrow, his forehead, his eyes wild and wide as he catalogs Rodney’s features, searching for something Rodney can’t name.
It’s overwhelming - Sheppard is a tsunami sweeping him under, the undertow pulling him out to sea, and Rodney’s drowning in it. It’s all fast, so fast he can barely keep up, but he tries. He wants more, wants to feel Sheppard’s muscles, the hard planes of his body against his own bulk. Wants to scrape his fingers through wiry body hair, wants to stick his nose in the crease of his thighs, behind his ear, in his armpit, breathe in the smell of the day’s sweat and grime on his skin.
He shoves Sheppard off long enough to tear away his own clothing, and Sheppard stares for a moment, dazed, before doing the same. And then he’s back on Rodney, hands gripping his shoulders tight, thrusting against his cock. He presses his face into the soft flesh of Rodney’s neck, bites hard and shivers.
“Ah- Ah- Fuck, Rodney, fuck, please, please, please-” Sheppard’s practically nonverbal, grunting and groaning loudly, rocking against him, and it’s the hottest thing Rodney thinks he’s ever heard. He plants his feet on the bed, grabs Sheppard’s ass and thrusts up against him and that’s all it takes. Sheppard grinds down almost painfully and shudders, shouting out as warm come spills between them.
Rodney’s close, so close, but Sheppard collapses on him, boneless and heavy, his fingers mindlessly carding through Rodney’s sweaty hair. He gives him a minute, before wriggling beneath him, poking his cock against Sheppard’s stomach insistently.
“Do you want to…” Rodney gestures down, as Sheppard hovers over him. The orgasm has definitely taken the edge off, but Sheppard’s still got a hungry, desperate quality to his movements. Rodney’s sweaty and flushed, covered in someone else’s come, and still hard, and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt more desired. It’s an undeniable turn on.
Sheppard licks a messy path down his chest, across his soft belly. His tongue swipes through his own come, even though Rodney’s sure it’s already cool and congealing; he drops his head back to the pillow with a groan.
And then John’s mouth moves again, lower over his abdomen, down the inside of his thighs, and suddenly there’s wet heat and soft lips wrapping around his aching cock.
And Sheppard does like oral, Rodney realizes, loves it; now he understands what that looks like. Because instead of that quiet, intense, focus, Sheppard is rubbing his face down the length of his cock, pressing wet, open mouthed kisses, licking the underside, nuzzling his balls. Sheppard’s worshiping his dick, savoring the moment, making these little, pleased whining noises, as he presses Rodney’s thighs wide open and sucks him down.
He feels powerful, and it’s heady and dangerous; in that moment, he thinks he could get Sheppard to do whatever he asks. But there’s nothing he wants more than this feeling, he wants Sheppard’s mouth wrapped tight around his cock, sucking sloppily, the way his hand whips up and down, jacking him off at the same time. He wants to come, wants to watch Sheppard drink it all down and lick him clean, wants to kiss his own taste from Sheppard’s lips.
“Sheppard, John, please,” Rodney begs, hand winding in Sheppard’s hair. Sheppard groans around his cock, his eyes wide open, staring up at Rodney. Hips snapping up, and John’s fingernails digging into the flesh of his hips and Rodney comes, gasping for breath as John gentles him through, sucks his cock until it’s soft and oversensitive.
“Ow, ow, leave it, will you,” Rodney says, tugging John off his dick. He doesn’t give him the option to hesitate, just pulls him down to lie beside him, kisses him deeply. Rodney winces against the bitter taste of his own come, but it doesn’t gross him out the way he expects it to.
They’re both dirty - sweat-sticky and covered in traces of come. Sheppard kind of stinks, and he kind of loves it. He wants to press Sheppard against him, rub his body all over, mingle their sweat and share their stenches.
He does.
They move together, something between wrestling and cuddling, and eventually they settle, John’s leg draped over Rodney’s hip, his head propped up on his elbow, staring again.
“I thought you were straight,” Sheppard says after a moment. Rodney shrugs.
“I thought you were, too.”
Sheppard snorts and shakes his head. Rodney pets a hand through sweat-damp hair, runs his finger along the outer shell of Sheppard’s ear. In this moment, it feels important to touch,
“I guess having a threesome with another guy isn’t exactly the pinnacle of heterosexual masculinity,” Rodney continues after a beat.
“You think too much about these things, Rodney. Stop worrying about how everyone else sees you, and start worrying about what you really want.”
Rodney considers for a moment. “I want you,” he says, gratified that John smiles, the way he hoped he might. “I still want tits,” Rodney continues.
John freezes, and Rodney pinches his hip. “Don’t be stupid, not like at the same time. I’m just saying, I think tits still do it for me. I think I might be bisexual. But I don’t need tits. Could probably go the rest of my life without them,” he says mournfully. “As long as I can look sometimes.”
Sheppard’s quiet, considering.
“You really aren’t into women at all? You were just doing it for me?” Rodney asks.
He kicks the soft, woven blanket down between their legs, then reaches to pull it up over them, cocooning them in tight. The sweat on his body has begun to cool, and he shivers in the evening air.
“It’s not like that,” John says. “I don’t really want women that way, but it still feels good. It’s kind of like autopilot, I just sort of let my body take over things. I don’t think about it.”
“You disassociate during sex,” Rodney counters. “Anyone ever tell you how fucked up you are, Sheppard?”
“Once or twice.” Sheppard lays his head down on the pillow beside Rodney’s, wraps an arm tight around his chest. “I didn’t disconnect with you, though.”
“No,” Rodney says. “You really wanted me.” He tries not to sound so surprised; from the way John’s arm tightens around him, he realizes he’s failed.
“You really didn’t realize I wasn’t straight?” Sheppard asks.
“You’re John Sheppard! Captain Kirk! Alien babes throw themselves at you constantly, I just thought you were, I don’t know, playing it cool or something.”
“Or something,” John says, laughing loudly, nearly choking on it. "That John Sheppard doesn’t exist. He’s all in your head."
"Have you ever even had a threesome before Pegasus?” Rodney asks.
“No,” John says. There’s a smile in his voice. “Did you think I had?”
“I figured guys like you did. With some hot blonde coed and one of your frat brothers, at least.”
“I wasn’t even in a frat,” John says, laughing again.
“It’s like I don’t even know you at all,” Rodney says mournfully. He means it as a joke, but Sheppard sighs deeply.
“I wasn’t trying to lie to you,” he says.
“It’s ok,” Rodney says, patting his hair. “Really, it is. I wasn’t trying to lie to you either. I didn’t know I liked men. I didn’t know I liked you, although maybe I should have guessed, because in retrospect I definitely looked at your chest way more than was strictly heterosexual. I thought I was just jealous. And I probably was! But also, uh, attracted to you,” Rodney says, words tripping out to fill the silence.
“Good,” John says, tracing a hand up his shoulder. “We’re good.”
—
The soldier shoots Rodney a smile, and rests her hand on his leg. With an apology he shrugs her off, and follows John up the stairs, into their room.